✧ 32 ✧
The woman was humming a soft but eerie lullaby tune. The gory details of her back were still visible behind the bars of the wooden chair she was sitting on. She was doing something with the knives in her hands, something that made an annoying screeching sound.
Ilya cautiously moved around the table to sit across from the woman, keeping her at a distance with the table between them. Ilya was terrified of her, not knowing what was on her mind, inviting him to an empty plate placed so awkwardly on that disgustingly neat dining table.
"Come along now." She gestured towards the chair. "Take a seat."
Ilya carefully pulled the chair across from the woman and sat down without blinking. His eyes never left her, watching every odd behavior.
He saw her smiling with her elbows on the table, holding two knives. She kept herself busy, sharpening one of the knives with the other.
Then his eyes glanced at the weapons on his side of the table, a fork and a knife. He slowly reached for the sharper object and pulled it under the table.
The woman started humming again.
"Umm." Ilya gulped. "What are we having?"
A bead of sweat reflected the lights from the candles. He stared at her, waiting for her reply. Her face made him so uncomfortable, ashy pale and stained with a fluid that was now visible against the candle fire—blood.
The lady abruptly stopped what she was doing and gave Ilya a smirk behind the shadow of her messy pile of fiery red hair.
"You."
Ilya's eyes turned round and big with dread. His green irises flickered with the burning flames of the unscented candles. The moment the woman uttered that word was the moment Ilya noticed something about the plate—it was big enough to hold a human head in it.
This woman was about to chop his head and serve it on that plate.
With the screech of the chair legs against the floor, the woman backed away and hopped on the table. Her limbs and shredded dark clothes were spread like a spider holding a pair of knives.
She hissed with dirty teeth, "I want your brain."
Ilya gasped and pushed away from the table, but not before she jumped at him. He fell backward to the floor, breaking the chair underneath him.
The woman was on top of him, laughing like a crazy joker before plunging one of the knives at him.
"Aaah," the boy screamed.
He instinctively pulled his arm up to cover his face and managed to block her attack with his bandaged wrist. He groaned from the painful impact but kept fighting her off of him.
The woman screamed and started attacking Ilya with all she had.
Many cuts covered his pale skin in frightening swift moves. This woman was on steroids too; he couldn't get her off of him. However, she surprisingly could act calm when she wanted to, unlike the shriekers.
Ilya thought she was human. She fooled him; she fooled him well enough to corner him.
Ilya managed to block her most serious attacks with the help of his bandaged arm. It was a painful but necessary maneuver. He swung his knife aimlessly between her attacks, but none of them hit her.
Then she pulled her arm up to send a deadly stab from one of her knives. That was when Ilya stabbed her in her side ribs. He felt her bones crack. The puncture must have been deep enough to reach her lungs. She should be coughing blood by now.
That should stop her.
She stopped and smiled. Blood dripped from her mouth.
"Heh," she chuckled softly.
Then her rotten smile turned into a snicker, then a cackle, a loud creepy laugh that sent chills down Ilya's spine.
Ilya quickly crawled backward, scrambling through pieces of his broken chair.
"You fool. You can't kill me," she said with a throaty growl and a black slimy smile. "I'm already dead!"
Ilya's eyes open wide at the horrific state of the undead woman in front of him.
That hit was supposed to kill her. Hell, that missing chunk of her back was supposed to kill her. Yet she was still standing. She referred to herself as dead. How could a dead person talk?
Talk? Ilya remembered what Maggie told him about the three types of zombies. Then he realized, he finally had a one-on-one encounter with the nastiest type of the three. The talkers!
But how could you kill an already dead person?
The talker woman jumped at him again. However, this time, Ilya was prepared. Before she landed on him, Ilya grabbed the leg of the broken chair and slammed it on her face.
The wooden piece shattered.
The woman recoiled, covering her nose.
Ilya noticed that the hit to the head left her dizzy. It was the only hit that affected her. Then he remembered the missing brains of the bodies in the elevator.
Puncturing their brains was the only way to stop these creatures.
She still came at him with a busted bloody nose and a nasty high-pitched scream that rattled the shriekers banging on the door.
The room became loud with the shrieks, the banging, the broken chairs, and the helpless screams for help.
"Charlie! Please, help me!"
Ilya shouted as he grappled with the woman who once again tackled the boy to the ground. This time, she pushed him to the ground so hard that he lost his only weapon. Now he was just a helpless armless boy fighting a dangerous crazy woman with two knives.
"Hehehehehe," she laughed like a hyena.
She was on top of him, pushing a knife into his shoulder with both hands until it bled.
Ilya once again used his wrapped arm as a shield to push her away, while his free hands grabbed one of hers to stop her from stabbing him all the way into his bones.
Ilya winced and grunted as he kept trying to push that knife away from him.
The knife went deeper.
The woman laughed loudly. Her dark eyes stared at the blood leaving Ilya's fresh shoulder wound. Her mouth drooled, dripping her nasty saliva directly on that open cut in his delicate skin.
Blood mixed with drool.
Ilya cried out, "Gaaaah!"
Then he snapped his eyes open. He remembered the scissors in his pocket.
Within a split second, he grabbed it and impaled her skull.
She wobbled on top of Ilya before falling on him, dead, again.
It was finally over. Ilya breathed out in relief before sliding the dead undead woman off of him. He sat up with difficulty, panting and sweating.
He groaned and crumpled in pain. His wrist. His shoulder. His headache. His twisted ankle. Everything hurt. And it was getting colder in here.
He shivered and wrapped his arms around him.
He was the only comfort to himself in this hellish place.
When that last thought sank in, Ilya cried. A prolonged wail cut through his throat, a bitter broken voice that he had been holding for a long time.
The shriekers went wild at that sound, heavily banging on that metal door. The clank that was keeping them out began to bend.
In just a few seconds, that door would be no more, along with some parts of Ilya.